30 Seconds
by labrinthine
Summary: Finn McMissle contemplates the life he has chosen while being strapped to a bomb with thirty second left. Warnings: language, thoughts of suicide, and mentions of violence. One-shot. Humanized.


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The ropes dug hard into his skin, and he knew he should be struggling... He should be trying to escape or diffusing the bomb strapped to his chest, but he found himself instead just laying there. The doors had been bolted and the windows were too high to reach in the little time he had left, so what was the point? He couldn't defuse bombs, not like Siddeley or Holley.

He guessed it was kind of ironic, the one thing he hadn't taken the time to study more was going to be the cause of his demise... He had always thought he would go down with a gun shot aimed just right or an assassination in his sleep. He had often thought if it came down to it he would have offed himself as well, he wasn't depressed, no, he was just thinking like a spy. In the event of a capture, CHROME had given him a small white pill with the order, "Use it only if you're _absolutely sure_ you can't escape."

He wondered vaguely how he had gotten into this life, it wasn't exactly normal for a bakers son to become one of the greatest spies in the world. Gently musing on his child hood he glanced down briefly at the clock...

30 seconds left...

He returned his thought to his family... To his father...

He guessed it all started when he turned 14 and was dragged into the world of French mobsters, they had grabbed him when he was riding his bike home and kept him in a dingy cell to await ransom. He had begged them to understand, his father was just a poor baker!

"I'm the only thing he has left! Without me he'll surely die!" they ignore his cries and pleas for release relentlessly.

But they were not cruel, they brought him 3 meals a day and allowed him books to read when he was bored, but would not allow him from the cell to stretch his legs. He did not blame them for being wary, his father had him put into many jujitsu classes when he was young, and he had taken out a large amount of their men before they managed to subdue him, but even then he had clawed and scratched them until they were red and bleeding. If he had the chance he would attack again.

"Are you ignorant?" One had asked, out of the blue one day.

"Of why you seem to think my Father has the money to free me? Yes." He had replied bitterly, glaring at the guard through the bars.

"He is very wealthy mobster, and a rival of Leon Boucher, our boss." The guard had been gentle when he broke the news, but it enraged Finn none the less.

"... Are you suggesting my Father is the leader of the Mafia?" His voice had been deadly quiet.

"Sorry, kid."

He decided that was enough of the past for now and glanced at the clock again, 25 seconds and counting.

Holley would be so mad at him.

Their bond had grown over their time as partners and they had slipped into a comfortable sibling relationship. He had often stayed up all night with her to sort out her relationship worries with Mater, or help her finish a case, or comfort her after missions that and gone sour. She had offered the same support during his bad days and rotten moods. Their fights had never been long and were resolved almost effortlessly, and each argument brought each other a better understanding of their partner.

He wondered if she would cry for him, at his funeral. Yes, he decided, she would. Chances are she would throw her hands across his chest and cry. No, he backtracked quietly, their wouldn't be enough to salvage to have an open casket. She might throw herself across his casket and scream to the heavens about how it wasn't fair...

He almost laughed at the idea of her cursing to God about him, she would cry but it would be silent, and she would stay after everyone had gone to keep vigil over him... It was almost endearing to think of, actually.

But Mater would cry loud and sad. Suddenly a heavy guilt weighed down his mind when he thought of Mater. Mater had been his friend, and he would cry when he died. He wasn't even trying to escape, how selfish! How selfish of he to condemn himself to his fate without a second thought! Didn't he care for his friends? For their feelings? They loved him!

But everyone deserved to be a little selfish in their life. Everyone deserved to do something just for them... Was this really what he wanted? He didn't know anymore. He was just so... exhausted of it all. He lived his life in silence and shadows, never daring to become close to a single soul other than those he had worked with. He was a trusting man by nature, but the life he led ripped any innocence and faith in humanity out of his body and into the atmosphere. He had watched people beat children, burn women with acid for nothing, kidnap men for torture, experiment on animals, and the list could go on for pages upon pages worth.

He had watched his Father rise to become the most powerful and dangerous Mafia boss France had ever seen.

He had watched his Father murder his mother.

He had watched him slip her the pills when she wasn't paying attention.

He had watched her die slowly, laying in her bed and crying constantly.

He had only been 8.

He was just so tired.

The silence stretched on and nothing could reach his quiet mind. He wondered if his father had went to heaven or hell, then he wondered where he would go. He had saved a lot of people in his life time, even the world once, but he had also committed murder too. He had shot down hired workers who knew nothing but needed the money, he had blown up building with civilians inside, and he had watched the life drain from people's eyes. He decided he would probably go to hell, you don't kill a family member and get away with it Scot-free. He wondered if he would see his father down there, and if he'd be angry.

He remembered getting out of that cell eventually, breaking down the hinges and taking out the guard right outside. He had crept thought the halls like a ghost, and snuck into the air vents easily before making a run for it across roads an streets he had never been to before. When he finally made it home he had been gone for 6 days.

His father had said, "Took you long enough."

His Father had been harsh, but never mean. He pushed him to the limit and signed him up for things he didn't want to do, but it made him stronger and smarter with every sport he played. His father had always told him someday he would show him their basement, and the day he made it back his father led him underneath.

It looked like a war bunker, the walls were lined with guns of every kind and stacks upon stacks of knives, Kevlar, and other weapons were spilling from crates staked around the room. Suitcases full of money were tucked away in a safe that his father unearthed from the ground, along with the money there was a decorative pistol and a small bullet etched with their family crest. Finn had been scared of his father then.

"You will make your first kill with this gun and this bullet, just as I have done and my father before me."

He hadn't wanted to, "Father..."

His fathers eyes had sparked with something dark, "You will do as I say."

Grinning slightly, he remembered back to Lightnings 22nd birthday when everyone had literally freaked out at his age. The funniest had been Sally and Mater, both rambling on about how old they were compared to him, and Flo pinching his cheeks and calling him a baby.

One of the most memorable quotes from that night had, ironically, been said by Sally, "Oh My GOD. Flo I'm a Cougar!"

Of course, later that night Lightning had managed to drink them all under the table before every collectively decided he'd had enough. But it did become much more interesting after that, including dancing on tables, falling off tables, karaoke, and lots of sentences started with, "Hold my beer and watch this."

He wondered if any of them knew how to defuse a bomb with only ten seconds left, but knew they didn't. Even if they busted in now their was no hope for him. he was dead, and that was certain.

It was a man in his mid thirties who recruited him. He had called him at midnight and offered him a proposition, "We know who your Father is, and we need your help."

And Finn had been vindictive that night, his father had mocked his mother's death and he had said, "Yes, I will do anything it takes to take him down."

Of course he hadn't expected to have to raise a gun to his father, he didn't expect to have to take him down with his own bullet. But it had felt good as the shot rang out, he had reveled in the blood so red that reminded him of his Mothers wet, hacking cough and her red stained handkerchief. He had hated his Father then.

He just missed his Father now.

He didn't regret shooting him.

He did wonder what the police had thought when they had found the body. It had happened in the basement, and he had said to his father, "My first kill will be with this gun." His father had looked shocked, "And i will used a bullet carved with my family's crest." He had clicked the safety off.

And his father had laughed. "You won't do it, you've always been a coward."

He had shot him straight between the eyes.

He wondered what they had deduced from the scene. A gun with his prints all over, and underground Mafia hideout, the barrels of drugs and an empty safe. They must have decided he had worked for his father and gotten frustrated when he didn't get his fair share, choosing to take it by murder instead.

He wondered if they still had that bullet.

But then again, who was sure the police had even been there. Chrome may have had it all cleaned up in record time easily, they had taken the orphan in immediately and had begun molding the 15-year-old to be a spy. They saw potential and they grabbed at it. So he changed his name and started a new life as a spy, and it had been a hard cruel existence.

And he was tired.

The clock counted down to three.

And he sent out a prayer to what ever god there was.

He asked that his friend don't suffer.

He asked that he be forgiven.

He didn't ask once for his life to be spared.

It counted down to one, and Finn clenched his eyes shut.

But there was no pain, no endless ball of flame engulfed him, no fire licked at his skin and no blissfully restful death. There was no light at the end of the tunnel, no clouds of white or blackened burning rocks. There was nothing but the feel of concrete underneath him and a breeze ruffling his hair.

The bomb had been a dud, he was alive, he would get to see all his friends again. He would live to see another mission, another life taken. He would live to see all his friends die. Again.

He wondered if he shook himself around a bit... would it go off?

No, instead he just gently untied the rope and found a way out. It turns out a door in the back wasn't sealed tight enough, he was able to kick it open. Slowly he pulled out his phone to call Siddeley...

He was so tired.

But he could sleep another day.


End file.
